


The Mystery of the Masked Man

by dorkpatroller



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: A little drinking, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Chrom!Inigo, First Kiss, Getting Together, M/M, but barely, owain mentioned in passing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-12
Updated: 2018-02-12
Packaged: 2019-03-17 03:19:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13650348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dorkpatroller/pseuds/dorkpatroller
Summary: Inigo was sent to prove his worth as a prince by rescuing a fair maiden. He doesn't find a maiden and, in the end, he finds that he's the one being rescued.





	The Mystery of the Masked Man

**Author's Note:**

  * For [iavenjqasdf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iavenjqasdf/gifts).



> A commission that took me way too long to write, but it was a pleasure all the same. This goes hand in hand with the fairytale au about Owain and Brady.

Inigo slumps against the wall of the stairwell. This is taking quite close to forever, the thinks. Climbing up these endless stairs. And why should fair maidens be trapped at the top of never-ending stairs simply waiting to be rescued? What’s stopping them from meeting their princes halfway down? Even a quarter of the way? 

 

He puffs out an exhausted breath, blows some of his bangs out of his face, and he drops his head back against the cool, stone wall. At least, he thinks, there hasn’t been a dragon. To slay a dragon is a daunting task and quite frankly Inigo isn’t sure he’s up to it. He’s a lover--not a fighter--and he’s said it enough times that he thinks maybe his father is starting to buy into it.

 

Wouldn’t that be nice?

 

Of course, if his father was  _ really _ buying into that, he probably wouldn’t have sent Inigo on this death trap of a quest anyway. He makes a bitter noise and pushes himself off the wall. Just a little further up to climb. He can do it, if only to prove to his father he’s not entirely useless. 

 

The stairs, he finds as he continues upwards, twist and turn in a sharp curve. They’re built for battle, and so that the people storming upwards have a distinct disadvantage to those coming down. But there are no people here to battle, only a crumbling stair and an out of breath prince. There are windows here or there to show that he’s actually moving and not simply trapped in an endless cycle of stairs. 

 

It’s reassuring, to say the least, because if anyone might accidentally stumble into a cursed stairwell it would be Inigo. If he’s going to die by stair he would rather fall down them than die of exhaustion trying to climb them. 

 

It’s with great relief and a dash of triumph that he finally reaches the top. There is little more than a corridor in disrepair and a door at the end of it that is hardly still sitting in its hinges. It is there, with his hands on his knees and struggling to catch his breath, that Inigo realizes something inevitable. There is no princess here. How could there be? There is no dragon, there is no lock or key or guards. The door is practically blowing open with just his huffing and puffing for air! Any princess in her right mind would have walked out ages ago. 

 

_ Perhaps she’s under a sleep _ his brain forces him to hold out hope.  _ Perhaps she’s there, lovely and still, waiting to be kissed by her true love? _

 

It’s a far fetched hope and even Inigo knows it’s a fool’s. But he has to try. He has to! Because if not this castle, he’ll have to move on to the next, and he simply doesn’t want to risk having climbed to the highest room of the tallest tower for nothing at all. 

 

Finally he’s ready. He’s got back some of his composure. He needs it on the off chance (the  _ very _ off chance) that he’s about to meet a princess. He combs his fingers through his hair to make it just a little more presentable, and then he approaches the door. With just the gentle push of his fingers it creaks open, slowly at first but then it picks up speed. The room is… clean. Cleaner than he expected, considering the state the rest of this castle is in. For the most part it looks lived in. 

 

The room is round and in the center there is a round rug that covers most of the stone floor. There is a great window that is open. The window is bigger than any that Inigo has ever seen. It has no pane or glass or covering, other than a sheer curtain that billows with a gentle breeze. That same breeze catches on the canopy of the bed, across the room. The bed is large, with four tall posts that hold up a canopy made of the same flowy material of the curtains. It shimmers in the light, like diamonds or gold were worked right into the fabric when it was spun It’s absolutely gorgeous. 

 

Inigo finds himself drawn to that bed first. He nearly stumbles over a table and chair set, but he notices the bowl of fruit on the table. Fresh fruit. Someone  _ has _ been living here. Someone who must be dozing in that bed. 

 

But… when he stops in front of it, he finds no one. No princess. No maiden at all. Just a freshly made bed. Inigo lets out a dramatic sigh. Or maybe he just says the word out loud dramatically as he flops down to take a seat on the side of the bed.

 

“Well, this is just dandy,” Inigo mutters to himself. He falls back on the bed, with his knees hanging off the side, and he sighs again. This time certainly for real. He stares at the sparkling canopy above him and he can hear his father’s voice echoing in his brain. Stop flirting with women in town so often, do something to prove your worth and the women will come to you. Be more like your sister, she’s worked hard to get where she is. 

 

Quite frankly he should be thankful Inigo doesn’t just run away from home to wander the countryside like his cousin did. Inigo loves his father, however hard he pushes him. He’s not trying to be an insufferable pain in the ass. He’s just trying to get his son to make something of himself. 

 

That Inigo has no interest in making himself into something he’s not simply isn’t what Chrom wants to hear. He loves his kingdom. He loves his family. He doesn’t want to stay cooped up in a castle behaving like a studious prince. His mother understands him. She was part of a dancing troupe for the first half of her live. She saw the world and she danced with passion bleeding off of her, but she fell in love with a prince and settled down. She’s happy, but she knows what Inigo is feeling. She calls it wanderlust. 

 

This bed, he decides, is his now. It’s the most comforting thing he’s found since he came to this dreadful tower and since no princess seems interested in occupying it he sees no reason why he can’t. He turns over onto his side and closes his eyes. Maybe he’ll wake up and find that this was all just a dream. That he’s safe and sound in his own bed and that his father doesn’t expect him to truly slay a dragon or save a princess to show his worth. 

 

(Although, if he hadn’t stormed out on some mission to  _ prove _ his worth in the first place, he’s quite certain that his father wouldn’t have really sent him. Because he probably doesn’t believe he can do it! All the more reason to prove himself right.) 

 

“May I  _ help you _ ?” 

 

Inigo’s eyes flash open wide. He’s not expecting a voice. Well, that is to say in his dream he was expecting the sweet voice of a woman, not quite the voice of an agitated male. With opening his eyes he finds that it’s darker. The canopy above him is no longer glimmering with daylight but it’s dull in the night. He sits up exactly fast enough to make himself dizzy, but he manages to scoot further away from the voice anyway. 

 

“I--er--Hello there,” Inigo looks up and over him. He’s tall. Dressed in dark and with a mask over his face like he’s from one of the costume balls that Inigo’s family throws. He’s not really in an aggressive position. He’s unarmed and he’s not acting like he wants to hurt him. And yet Inigo still finds himself intimidated  _ anyway _ . “Is this your bed? My apologies, I just made a long trip and I was passing on through…” 

 

“Passing through a tower?” His voice is gruff and Inigo swallows in vain around a lump growing dry and hard in his throat. Faster than he’s ever moved before he’s up and on his feet, standing in the middle of the rumpled sheets. 

 

“Passing right through! So I’ll just be on my way and out of your hair now,” Inigo says. He drops one eye closed in a wink and takes a step back. Semi-gracefully he drops back off the edge of the bed and his boots collide with the ground. He takes another step back and his back collides with something solid. Something warm. His mouth closes. 

 

“Please tell me you have a dog.” Behind him, the dragon snorts out a steaming breath through its nostrils. A chill spikes through him and Inigo yelps. He jumps away and turns to face the beast. A dragon! He fumbles to draw his sword. 

 

It’s not even in his hand properly before it’s kicked away from him. “Hey!” Inigo chokes out the exclamation and the masked man knocks him back. His sword hits the floor with a thud. His heart leaps into his throat. He’s going to die here today. He’s not going to have a chance to disappoint his father by coming back empty handed, because he’s going to be swallowed up by a dragon. 

 

“What gives you the right to break into our home and attack us?” He asks. Inigo tries to process the words. Us. Is he includinding the dragon in that? He’s certainly not right in the head.

 

“That’s a  _ dragon _ ! It could bite me in half if it tried!” 

 

“Well she would never do that,” the man mutters. “Unless I directed her to do as such. Maybe I should, considering how you’re trying to attack her.” He bends down and picks up Inigo’s sword. For a moment, he just admires it. Twists it in his grip… and then he takes a few steps back towards a desk and lays it down there. “Your name?” He asks.

 

In that moment Inigo can’t even remember his name. He flaps his lips for a few seconds before muscle memory kicks in and he says “I am Inigo, Prince of Ylisse.” Usually there’s something to the effect of what a pleasure it is to meet someone after that little bit, but he’s not exactly in a position to make small talk. 

 

“Ylisse,” That man is very distinctly not giving Inigo his name in return. It’s rude, first of all, but it’s a little intimidating all the same. Why shouldn’t he share his identity? Combined with the mask it’s unsettling and mysterious, to say the least. The very,  _ very _ least. “The castle is only a few days from here.” 

 

“Er,” Inigo hates to be a know it all, but he disagrees. “It took me weeks to get here.” 

 

“You didn’t have a dragon.”

 

Well, that’s a fair point too, Inigo supposes. “And so..?” What next? Do they hold him captive? Take him hostage in exchange for treasures? His father would be disappointed, yes, but he would give anything to keep his children safe. 

 

He’s not expecting what he actually hears. “And so it will take us three days to return you there. Obviously. We’ll leave here at dawn.” 

 

…

 

Not-so-remarkably, the masked man cares very little about what Inigo thinks. After an entire night spent trying to convince him that he’s not going back--that he’s the prince and he won’t be forced to do anything at all… Well, come morning he’s made no progress. 

 

He tears apart a piece of bread but he doesn’t eat it, he’s not quite hungry yet. It’s too early for him. He’s never been an early riser. “I still don’t know your name,” He says. He expects to be told he can’t have it, that it’s a secret just as the shape of his face behind the mask is as well. 

 

Instead he receives his answer with minimal argument. He grunts. “Gerome.” 

 

Inigo hates to admit that he lights up with this new bit of information. “Gerome? Your name is Gerome?” It’s not that he anticipates building a friendship with a man who rather apparently wants to see him suffer, it’s just that Inigo has always been a social soul, and he would rather suffer when he has someone to complain to. 

 

(This is actually quite the adventure he’s found himself on. It’s a shame his cousin did vanish to travel, because he certainly thinks this is the sort of story he would swoon over.)

 

Gerome only grunts once more in response, but now that Inigo knows he hasn’t forgotten how to speak, he won’t be swayed to stop trying to make conversation. So he continues to talk while Gerome packs a variety of supplies or food into saddlebags that hang from the dragon. A dragon with a saddle, because he rides it. Inigo still finds the concept a little obscure… considering he’s spent his whole life being told tales of slaying dragons, and that they cannot be trusted or tamed. (Then again, half of the stories he heard in his life were tall tales.)

 

Inigo slips away from the table he’s seated at. The chair scoots across the floor mostly silently thanks to the rug, but it still creaks. Both heads snap to look at him. Inigo casually walks closer to the dragon. “Does he have a name? Oh--she. You did call her a she last night, didn’t you?” 

 

A dragon. He’s sure if he approaches her she really could bite him in half… but he does it anyway and he finds that she does nothing of the sort. When he lifts up his hand to lay it on her, she simply allows it. 

 

“Woah,” He admits aloud. She’s warm. Oh, wow, her scales are nice and toasty. But not boiling or anything. Not like she’s made of lava instead of flesh and blood. She turns her head to look at him and he admittedly flinches back. But then she makes a sweet noise. Maybe it’s a purr, even, and Inigo tentatively reaches out and brushes his fingers over her scales. 

 

Gerome is staring at him, and Inigo turns his head to watch him in return. “Well? A name?” 

 

“She doesn’t usually take to strangers touching her,” Gerome mutters. Inigo finds himself flashing him a smile. Gerome clears his throat. “Her name is Minerva.” He goes back to packing away bread and fruit. 

 

Inigo goes back to petting the dragon’s snout. “Minerva! A lovely name for a lovely lady. Tell me, Minerva, what is it about me that won your heart? My good looks? My princely status? Perhaps you simply have good taste; you’ll have to tell me all about it over tea.” 

 

“She doesn’t drink tea.” Gerome grumbles. 

 

Inigo doesn’t look at him, simply combs his fingers over Minerva’s face and smiles when she coos at him in exchange. “She doesn’t speak, either, I presume. That’s no reason to deny a pretty girl like her a date with a prince.” 

 

Inigo finds a smirk coming up over his lips when Gerome pulls the straps on the saddlebag shut just a little too violently. He looks back at him. Or probably does. It’s hard to tell exactly where he’s looking or what he’s thinking because of the way the mask is crafted. It’s impossible to really see his eyes.

 

Gerome hides the majority of his face but that doesn’t make it impossible to get a read on him. His hair is gelled. It’s a bright red, and quite honestly it’s kind of a jarring shade on him, because he’s dressed in all black like he’s trying to be some sort of tall, dark, and handsome type. And he’s mastered the tall and the dark but it’s kind of a shame he’s hiding his face. Inigo has no way of knowing if he’s handsome.

 

All he knows is that he’s clearly a little jealous that his precious dragon friend took so kindly to Inigo so swiftly. He goes on to say, “It’s not a date. She’s not--You can’t  _ date _ a dragon.” 

 

“Not with that attitude,” Inigo mumbles. 

 

Gerome scoffs. “Enough. Am I to believe you’re so desperate that when you climbed a tower and found no maiden you resigned yourself to flirting with anything with a face?”

 

“Of course not,” Inigo says. He steps away from the dragon and raises his brow up for Gerome. “You have a face, after all. I’ve no interest in flirting with you--You just want to ruin my life.” 

 

“Taking you home won’t ruin your life.” Gerome scoffs, and Inigo imagines for a moment that he’s disappointed. Maybe he’s truly heartbroken that Inigo won’t flirt with him? But he’s not. He couldn’t care less about Inigo or his feelings. He steps into the saddle and then takes a seat atop Minerva and then he extends his hand down. 

 

Suddenly Inigo is nervous. For many reasons! He’s only just met Gerome, why should he trust him? He has openly declared his intention to take him back to his father and publicly humiliate him by doing so. Not to mention he’s never flown before. And what if he flies him up into the sky and then pushes him off to his death? He bites his lip.

 

He tilts his eyes up and looks at Gerome through his lashes and he wishes to god he could see his eyes through that mask. If that were the only difference it made, at least he could get a look at his eyes and find out what his intentions were. His father always told him to trust with your instinct, and that a man’s eyes could tell you a lot about his intentions. He met his best friend at random, but… he also could look into his eyes and see he was a trustworthy man. 

 

Inigo can’t do that, but he puts himself at risk anyway. If Gerome only meant to kill him, it’s likely he would have done so by now. Inigo reaches up and takes the hand extended out to him, he clasps his grip around his wrist, and so Gerome jerks him up onto Minerva’s back. 

 

He just barely fits in the saddle in front of Gerome and right away he’s filled with regrets. They’re  _ touching _ . It’s almost intimate, the way Gerome’s chest is warm against Inigo’s back. He can feel heat through their clothes. 

 

His face feels hot but he tells himself it’s nerves and he pushes his hands down to grip at the saddlehorn located between his thighs. “Are you sure this is safe..?” He asks the question but the only answer he receives is a shout. His own shout, he later realizes, when Minerva charges forward and jumps out of that overly large window and into the open air. 

 

“Perhaps you can keep the screaming to a minimum?” Gerome asks. Inigo straightens up in the saddle and forces his eyes open. He can hear the wind whipping past his ears with every wingbeat, but he’s able to hear Gerome just fine. He’s so close, anyway, and his mouth is awfully close to Inigo’s ear when he says “Minerva prefers calm voices.” 

 

Calm voices. Something about that settles inside of Inigo. It resonates like a song, and despite the goosebumps rising on his arms he settles back against Gerome in the saddle. He must have anticipated it, because he doesn’t seem startled, or even to mind. 

 

There’s something magical about watching the world go by, from up here. Inigo can recall the forest beneath them. He remembers his struggles, and how dark and twisted the woods were. From up here it’s just a fluffy cloud of green tree tops that look perfectly harmless. Birds fly by, like they’re not at all bothered by the dragon joining them in the sky. A flock of ducks that honk playfully and then part ways with them some time later. 

 

“Tell me why you don’t want to return home.” 

 

Gerome’s voice is the last thing Inigo expects, in his trance up here. He’s more startled by the man he’s leaning against than he is by the clouds they’ve whizzed through. After that initial startle, though, he settles right back against him. If he moves far Gerome won’t hear him speak, anyway. He turns his head so he’s speaking more between them than into the open sky. 

 

“My father sent me out on this fool’s quest to prove I can behave like a prince. You know--rescue a princess, slay a dragon, find something worth protecting, that sort of thing. If I return to him empty handed it’s bad enough. If I’m delivered to him by the very dragon I was meant to slay, I’ll be a laughing stock.” He pats the side of Minerva’s neck. “No offense,” he adds, softly. 

 

He doesn’t think Minerva is a bad dragon at all. In fact, now he wonders if bad dragons are even real, or simply the stuff of fairy tales. Are dragons just like any other animal? Maybe if more time was spent trying to tame them and less time trying to slay them for trophy heads, they would find themselves in a better place. 

 

Gerome doesn’t ask him anything else about it. Inigo thinks it’s odd. Telling a perfect stranger the story of his life is on the tip of his tongue, but he can’t bring himself to do it because, of course, the stranger didn’t ask. So Inigo bites his tongue back, wonders what in the world could make him want to tell a stranger everything he knows, and he watches the scenery go by.

 

…

 

That night they stop in at a small little inn, if it can even be called that. It’s more of a house with two or three extra rooms that the owners rent out when they need the money or when travelers pass through. In this case there is, of course, only one extra room. Inigo can’t say he’s surprised. His opportunity to sneak away from Gerome and Minerva forever in the night, to disappear on his way and continue his quest to find and rescue a damsel in distress,g slips through his fingertips. Instead he finds himself having a stew for dinner that was good on the way down but has his stomach a little rumbly now that it’s bedtime. He doesn’t think he’ll be sick, though, only that the ingredients involved could have perhaps been a touch… fresher.

 

He’s laying on his side on the very edge of the bed, but it’s not because Gerome is occupying the other side of it. Actually, Gerome is on the floor. He’s laid out a bedroll that he brought on the journey and he has a blanket and a pillow. 

 

“You’ll make a man think he smells, avoiding him this much,” Inigo jokes, softly. He’s not sure why Gerome insisted on sleeping on the floor, but it doesn’t matter. Inigo spent the whole day uncomfortably close to him. He’s not bothered to have a chance to put some distance between them. “I would have offered you the bed, you know.” 

 

“You’re a prince.” Gerome grunts. He turns over on his side facing the wall--very specifically facing the opposite direction of Inigo. He doesn’t want to talk. Inigo doesn’t want to go home. No one gets what they want, it seems. 

 

“Mhm, I am. But I already took your bed once, if you recall, so you don’t owe it to me to sleep on the floor.” Well, except that he does, but Inigo can play nice. 

 

“I’m already sleeping on the floor, so it shouldn’t matter.” Gerome pulls the blanket up over his shoulder. He’s still got that mask on. Inigo can see now that it’s got a tie around it, in the back, so it won’t come loose. It’s barely visible in his hair, but if he spends all is time riding around on a dragon it makes sense not to want to lose it.

 

“You’re not sleeping yet,” Inigo argues. “You’re still talking to me. Say, how come you sleep with your mask on?” 

 

Gerome sighs, long and frustrated, through his nose. Inigo closes his eyes, but he smiles to himself for being such an annoyance. He’s only being friendly! Honest! Serves him right for halfway-kidnapping him.

 

“Are you terribly mauled underneath? Or burnt? Maybe you were born without sight--are you blind? You’re incredibly impressive for a blind man.” 

 

“I’m not blind.” Gerome pulls his pillow out from under his head and instead curls it over his ears, like he can drown out Inigo’s voice. “Go to sleep, prince.” 

 

“Please don’t call me that. I have a name.” Inigo mutters. He turns over on the bed and gets more comfortable where he’s not likely to fall off in the night. He was just teasing before, but now he really does wonder why Gerome wears that mask. 

 

…

 

“Look! They’re having a party!” Inigo slides down off of Minerva with absolutely no grace. The dragon groans, or maybe whines, and so he steps closer to her face and holds it in his hands. “Aw, I’m sorry sweet lady. Did I hurt you?”    
  
“We’re not going to a party.” Gerome is a killjoy before Inigo even has a chance to ask a question. He says it so sternly too, like he thinks Inigo is actually going to  _ listen _ to him or something. It’s almost cute. Instead of arguing, Inigo just snorts.

 

“Maybe you aren’t, but I am.” Inigo begins to turn up his sleeves to his elbows and to straighten the mess the wind made of his hair. “Where there’s a party, there’s bound to be a lovely lady or two to keep me company... and even if there’s not I’ll bet my pants there’s a good time to be had.” 

 

“We’re taking you home. With your pants  _ on. _ We don’t have time to stop for a party.” Gerome grunts. Inigo raises a skeptical brow at him. 

 

“I’m sorry,” He begins, and he touches his own chest with his fingertips. “I had no idea you were on a time constraint. In that case, why don’t you go on ahead of me and I’ll catch up.” He smirks when he sees Gerome visibly frown deeper. “Come on, then. It won’t kill you to have a good time.” 

 

It’s not a party so much as a festival. The whole city is decorated in lanterns and lights and banners. There’s confetti on cobblestone and vendors with street food and games and prizes. Inigo looks around, with Gerome on his tail, and he notices more people than not are wearing masks. A masquerade! How fun! He’s about to mention that Gerome should feel at home here when he’s stopped by one of the vendors. “Halt! How dare you come here, to this festival, with your bare face exposed?” He hesitates when he notices the brand centered in Inigo’s eye.

 

Inigo can feel him judging in that moment if he should keep up his act of ignorance or not. The man settles for continuing his speech, and honest to god he holds out a mask for Inigo. “Here, quickly! Shield your face from the world, because tonight is a night to make mistakes! To have fun! To indulge! Tonight you act without shame, and no man nor woman will know your face to judge you come morning.” 

 

It sounds like his kind of party. Inigo takes the mask in his hands, but right away he knows it’s expensive. It’s too fine of quality to just be any old party mask. It’s made of cool metal, quilled and curled and lacy in some places. It’s gold, or at least it’s plated, and two satin ribbons hang from the sides of it to tie around his face. He looks back up with uncertainty in his eyes. “I can’t afford to pay you for this,” he can’t! He didn’t bring near enough money to go around wasting it on this either. There are gemstones studded into it! 

 

“You’ll take it as a gift.” He takes a short bow and walks away before Inigo can argue. Instead he turns to Gerome and looks at him with a gaping mouth. Talk about some princely privilege! 

 

“Put it on me,” He says without missing a beat. If this gift is going to be given to him he’s going to make the most of it. He simply has to go to this festival now, to earn the mask he just recieved. He holds it out to Gerome, who, surprisingly, doesn’t really protest. He just moves closer like a shadow, and Inigo presses the cool metal up against his face while Gerome ties it for him.

 

It fits perfectly, like it was made just for him. The metal settles against the bridge of his nose and the apples of his cheeks, and the decorative piece between his eyes is just the right length for the center gem to meet the center of his forehead. It feels foreign for a moment. He’s not used to the weight on his face and he’s worried perhaps that it will fall away, but Gerome tied it well and it’s not going anywhere.

 

Gerome drops his hands back to his sides, and so Inigo turns to face him. He looks up at him and he finds a genuine question slipping out of his mouth. “How do I look?” Maybe he can win some hearts at this party after all? Gerome grumbles. 

 

That reminds Inigo that he is forcing him to attend this shindig. In that moment he realizes that more than he wants to meet a pretty lady at this festival, he really wishes he could get this grumpy-pants to smile. He’s sure he could have a good time, tonight, if he just tried. “Did you hear what that man said to me?” 

 

“Most of it.” Gerome’s voice is flat. Inigo rolls his eyes. His eyes aren’t hidden behind the mask like Gerome’s are, so he’s sure that he can see the gesture.

 

“Yes, well he told me that today is about having unrestricted  _ fun _ I think. That includes you, Mr. Mask. Come on--let’s explore.” 

 

He puts his hand in Gerome’s and pulls him closer towards the square of the city, where everyone seems to be gathered. Gerome, to his credit, obeys. He lets Inigo guide him a few steps before he walks at his side, all of his own will. Their hands stay clasped together until a woman in dancer’s clothes with a feathered mask sweeps between them, forcing their hands apart. Inigo is startled and turns to face her, but a breath later a man puts himself in his face, offering him two glasses of what smells like mulled wine. “Oh, why thank you,” He says. “My fair friend here will pay you,” He winks. Gerome groans. 

 

But he does pay the man, just a couple of coins, and Inigo passes him one of the glasses in exchange. It’s warm wine, just right in temperature, and there’s a slice of orange floating in it to give it a hint of citrus. He’s not sure if the warmth that takes over his chest is from the heat of the wine or the alcohol within it, but he smiles. “It’s very good… You know, Gerome, you could act a little less like my prisoner. Won’t you have a good time with me?” 

 

He watches him take a sip of his wine, watches what almost looks like a smile form around the lip of the cup. “And if I do,” he starts to bargain slowly, after he swallows. “Then tomorrow you’ll let us travel uninterrupted?” 

 

“So long as you can keep all of your complaints to yourself for the rest of the night, I suppose I can agree to that.” Inigo looks past him. “There are performers over there. Shall we have a look?” 

 

Gerome follows his gaze and he must see them. Dancers and musicians playing lively music. A crowd of people are dancing as well, not at all talented like they are. It looks like everyone is having a good time. Most of them are probably drunk, if they’re drinking much of this stuff. It took him only a couple more sips to realize it’s more than just mulled wine--something much stronger has been mixed in with it. 

 

“Mm, do you know what would be lovely, right now?” Inigo asks. He spins the glass in his hand and, without reservations, puts back the rest of his drink in two strong gulps. His head buzzes in protest and his throat burns with the drink, but it settles into a pleasant hum in the back of his mind.

 

He expects Gerome to suggest that leaving would be lovely, but instead he simply says “Tell me.” Inigo will have to thank him for actually playing nice and agreeing to his terms of having fun.

 

“Dancing.” Gerome’s lips part and he looks back at Inigo, only to catch him staring. Inigo dips his head to one side. “I don’t have a partner, of course,” He watches the tiniest hint of color touch Gerome’s cheeks. It’s nice to see he’s human enough to be flustered, at least. He should be thanking Inigo. That blush is the most emotion he’s shown in two days. “I wonder if there’s anyone here who promised not to complain, who might be willing to offer their hand to a dance?” 

 

“I,” Gerome hesitates visibly. He’s not allowed to complain, of course, but that doesn’t mean he’s not allowed to reject the offer. Instead of rejecting it right away, though, he takes a final sip of his drink and sets aside the cup. “Just once, and you can never tell anyone this happened.” 

 

Inigo brightens. “Not even Miss Minerva?” 

 

“Especially not Minerva.” 

 

Inigo chuckles low and his heart races with the wine currently heating his blood.  “Well, this is an evening to make mistakes is it not? No one will ever know who you danced with, not when I’m wearing this fetching mask.” He slides an eyelid shut into a slow wink, and at the same time he leans down into a bow. One hand is pressed into his chest, the other he extends for Gerome to take. Like he’s in a ballroom, asking him for a slow dance to orchestra music.

 

Oh, but this dance is hardly a slow one. This music is loud and bouncy and it’s more like they’re stumbling to try and keep up with the ups and downs of the song than it is a dance at all. But it’s fun. For Inigo anyway! He stumbles once or twice over just the shape of Gerome. Their fingers are twisted together at both hands, for dear life, and he still somehow manages to trip over one of his feet. It’s honestly astounding. Twists and turns and once they switched partners for a moment. Somehow they wound up back in each other’s arms, closer than they meant to be. For half a second their chests touch and Inigo is certain he can feel the thunder of Gerome’s heart beating against his own. Then he laughs a melodic laugh and he pulls Gerome back into the steps of the dance. 

 

There are people all around them. No one to recognize them, but the world to see at the same time. Inigo spins into Gerome’s embrace and Gerome snorts at him before he guides him to spin right back out of it. The music begins to crescendo. It gets louder and louder around them, alarmingly loud until Inigo can’t even hear his own thoughts anymore, and then abruptly the song ends. There’s a moment of confused silence. Inigo stands there, hands wrapped up in Gerome’s fingers, panting. Gerome is panting. Then… Then Inigo starts laughing. 

 

“I’m sorry!” He giggles, “I really am a good dancer--I know you wouldn’t guess from  _ that _ display.” He looks up at Gerome, but halfway to his eyes he stops; his gaze catches on his lips. They’re curled up into a smile, just like that. Was a dance and making a fool of themselves all it took to earn such a handsome smile? It seems to him like his earlier mission is already accomplished. Maybe he can earn a laugh or two out of him, yet.

 

“No one can possibly be good at that dance,” Gerome replies instead. It’s not really condescending, though. Inigo won’t count it as a complaint. He probably just  _ means _ it. It was an impossible dance. Honestly Inigo is half certain that the steps were made, and the song was written, as it went. They were lucky to survive at all.

 

“I’d say we fared alright.” Inigo chuckles back.

 

There’s all sorts of things to explore in this festival, of course, but the sun is already going down and they hardly have time to explore the half of it. They visit a booth that’s selling sweets, and Inigo buys them both a chocolate covered berry.  Beside that booth there’s a stand selling tiny, folded paper figurines, and while he tries not to look like a fool munching on his chocolate, Inigo looks over the craftsmanship of them. They’re all very precise. Small enough to fit in a closed hand. The maker very obviously has nimble fingers. One of them is a tiny, green dragon... and Inigo buys it, too. For Minerva, of course! She needs it. She didn’t have the pleasure of joining them for this festival, after all.

 

He finds someone else selling little paper cups of ice cream, and that’s the last stop they make before a crash and then a boom sound off. They’re so loud they knock the wind out of Inigo, and they echo vividly through the air.

 

Up in to the sky, actually, and they both turn to look up just in time to see a scatter of colorful fireworks bursting. “Oh!” Inigo gasps. He turns to look back at Gerome for a moment… but he’s already looking up at the sky so it seems silly to ask if he saw that. Of course he saw it. The better question to ask is “Will you watch the fireworks with me?” 

 

Gerome nods his head, but he reaches out for Inigo’s hand. He’s not sure where they’re going, only that he drops the empty ice cream cup into a bin along the way. Soon he finds that Gerome is taking him to higher ground. They come to a clearing a little further from the festival than Inigo anticipated… but it’s a perfect spot to watch the display.

 

The sound of the fireworks is sort of a haze now. Inigo can hear them, but his head is still buzzing with the earlier alcohol and his cheeks are warm. Gerome stands at his side and together they watch the night sky. Inigo’s had fun tonight. Gerome was a good sport about everything. They danced, they ate, they played some games. He even swears he heard him laugh once or twice. It all seems like a blurry dream, almost, and when he turns to face Gerome again he thinks his vision is fuzzy. Maybe it’s the wine, or the smoke from the fireworks. “You know,” He starts in a soft voice.

 

Gerome glances in his direction, but when he realizes Inigo is looking right at him he turns to face him instead of the sky. Inigo watches the colorful lights bounce off of Gerome’s face. What he can see of it, anyway. “I had a startlingly good time with you, tonight.” 

 

Gerome’s lips twitch into a lopsided smile. Inigo’s stomach flip flops in response. He’s not convinced that’s a normal reaction to seeing a man smile, but he knows that’s the cause of his butterflies. But quick as it came, Gerome’s smile fades, and he reaches out and swipes his thumb over the corner of Inigo’s lower lip. 

 

Inigo’s face floods with heat, but thank goodness it’s dark. He’s worried Gerome can tell he’s blushing anyway… but Gerome doesn’t say anything. For a moment Inigo starts to daydream. He wonders if he’ll lean down. Their lips will brush together hesitantly, but it won’t matter. Inigo will push himself off the platforms of his feet and smash their mouths together into the perfect first kiss, he’ll leave him wanting more. 

 

But Gerome doesn’t lean down. He just pulls his hand back. “You had some ice cream…” 

 

Ah, that makes sense. Inigo nods his head, thoughts lingering on the fantasy. Gerome doesn’t look away, and neither does he. Inigo needs to take the initiative, right? So pushes himself up onto his toes and he leans a little closer. It’s sort of the perfect setting for this, isn’t it?  He just needs to set the mood. Gerome will get the hint, he’s sure of it. This is a night to make bad choices, but before he can even finish the thought, Gerome takes a step back. “We should find a place to rest.” 

 

Inigo’s day dream bubble pops and he falls back onto his heels. Gerome turns and walks away. He finds he’s a little more disappointed than he should be. Maybe he was crossing signals, but the hazy, warm mood fades and a cold spot forms where Gerome was moments ago. 

 

…

 

There was romance in the air that night. It dissipated the moment Inigo took off that mask, though, and he’s sure of it. The following day Gerome is back to his quiet, grumpy self… and Inigo has to hold up his end of the bargain: no complaining while they make the final leg of their journey back to Ylisstol.

 

After breakfast he presents Minerva with her paper dragon. She grunts and snorts but it’s definitely a happy snort! Inigo is certain of that. At least he won  _ someone’s  _ heart. He pets her head a few moments, and then when Gerome is done preparing they’re off. 

 

He’s growing used to flying, by now. They’ve done it for two days in a row. So this time he settles back against Gerome’s chest and plays with the paper dragon in his fingers. He settles more of his weight against him than he needs to… and he wonders if he’ll complain about it, or shove him off, but he doesn’t do either. He just allows Inigo to lounge against him, and Inigo allows himself to push his luck and daydream over a man he was afraid of a day ago. If he had a flower to pluck the petals from, he dares to think he may even have tested his fortune on that. 

 

“I don’t know how to make them,” He says about the paper dragon. It’s easier to start a conversation with that than to try and sort through last night. Gerome looks down at the paper briefly and then he shakes his head. 

 

“It’s just patterns. Anyone can learn.” 

 

Inigo doesn’t think Gerome knows how to do it either, but doesn’t say as much. “You know,” He says instead of dwelling on the small talk about paper folding, “You haven’t told me why you wear your mask. You’re not making mistakes all the time, are you?” 

 

He can hear Gerome sigh, but he feels it first with the heave of his chest--warm and firm--against Inigo’s back. Inigo tucks the paper dragon safely away in the saddlebag and once that’s done he tilts his head back. He cranes his neck until he’s looking all the way up at Gerome. “Come on. I can keep a secret, you know. Can I see?” 

 

“No.” Gerome looks down at him only briefly but then he moves on looking out over the sky. There’s silence, save for the sound of Minerva’s wings cutting through the air. He must feel Inigo’s eyes still staring at him… because he scoffs. “There’s nothing to see.” 

 

“So then you don’t have a face at all?” Inigo asks. He can feel Gerome get tense, the muscles in his chest tightening up. Then he releases the tension in a long, long sigh. “Come on… I want to see.” 

 

“No.” 

 

Inigo tries to pout but it’s hard to make that work when Gerome won’t even  _ look _ at him. And then he gets a wild idea. Or maybe it’s a death wish, but he shifts in place and starts to swing his leg around Minerva to change position. “What are you--” Gerome begins to ask. He lets go of the reins with one of his hands and instead tries to pull Inigo back into place against his chest. 

 

“Hold on,” Inigo argues. He twists around until he’s facing Gerome and he… regrets it right away. Situated backwards like this isn’t comfortable. The saddle horn is pressed uncomfortably into his lower spine and his legs are forced to wrap around Gerome’s hips to make sure he doesn’t fall off and to his death. But maybe he can play it off as cool? He’s got a blush darker than Gerome’s hair but he casually winks at him. “There, alright. Now show me what’s under your mask.” 

 

He must have scars. He must have  _ something _ . Right? Why else would he fight so hard about it. “If you’re horribly ugly I’ll still like you. I won’t even make fun of you. Honest!” 

 

“What do you think you’re doing?” Gerome dodges every request of Inigo’s by asking a question of his own. While he does, he lays his hand over Inigo’s hip. Probably to steady him but it just makes another wave of heat crawl up into his cheeks. He shouldn’t have done this. He’s lucky he didn’t fall, but Gerome obviously thinks he’s an idiot for it as well. 

 

“Getting a good look at you,” Inigo answers the question the flirtiest way he can muster. Gerome can’t really run away from him this time. Not unless he really does throw Inigo off the dragon. He dips his head to the side and tries pouting again. “Please?” 

 

“...” Inigo waits patiently and Gerome keeps him waiting for an unfair amount of time. They just stare at each other. Sort of. Inigo stares at his mask anyway. Eventually his fingers flex a little against Inigo’s side. “Fine.” 

 

Excitement bubbles up inside of him. “Really?” He asks. He pushes his bangs behind his ears to fight the way the wind is blowing it around, but it does nothing. He set himself up to have a bad hair day by turning backwards. He waits, only somewhat patiently. Gerome huffs. 

 

“Hold this,” He says, and he passes the leather strap of the reins to Inigo. He holds it in one hand, and holds on to the saddle behind him with the other. Carefully he watches Gerome reach behind his head and pull at the string to remove the mask. 

 

He isn’t sure what he was expecting. Burns, a missing eye, a scar across his face… but Gerome looks entirely unmarred. His cheekbones are high, his skin a little pink with what must be a blush, and he looks completely… well he’s handsome. He stares down at Inigo and suddenly  _ he’s _ the one blushing. He’s sure Gerome has looked at him in the eye a hundred times before, but he’s never felt so exposed by it before. This is intimate. 

 

“Oh,” he says quietly. “You look… normal.” 

 

“You’re disappointed, I take it?” Gerome scoffs. He moves to put the mask back on, but Inigo makes a quick grab for his wrist. For a moment they’re stuck in that exact second. Inigo’s fingers wrapped around Gerome’s wrist and their eyes locked on one another’s. 

 

“I,” He whispers, but he knows he must not be audible over the wind. “No.” He shakes his head slowly. “I’m confused, actually. Why should you hide your face all hours of the day and night when you’re handsome? You could sweep anyone right off their feet with a stare like this.” 

 

He’s certainly got Inigo’s heart thundering harder in his chest, anyway. He lets go of Gerome’s wrist and instead draws his fingertips up along the shape of his cheek. Gerome flinches at first… but then he doesn’t stop him. He doesn’t ask him not to touch. So Inigo drags the pad of his thumb over the apple of his cheek. “You’ll tell me, won’t you?” He asks. 

 

“No,” Gerome mumbles back. Inigo shakes his head. He doesn’t like being told no. Instead he moves his thumb lower, over the corner of Gerome’s lip.

 

“I’ll tell you a secret in exchange.” That’s a fair trade, right? “I’ll even go first.” 

 

“Inigo,” Gerome groans, he’s going to tell him no. Inigo refuses to accept no for an answer, though, and so he shakes his head and centers his finger on Gerome’s lips to silence him. 

 

“Last night,” He begins, boldly, “When you were this close to me, before, I mean… I thought for just a moment you were going to kiss me.” 

 

Gerome seizes up with the words. Inigo licks his lips, and in turn he watches Gerome roll his lips inwards. 

 

“I was disappointed that you didn’t.” Inigo pulls his hand back, just lets it drop between them. He watches color spread over Gerome’s face. It’s by no means as angry as the blush on his own cheeks, but he thinks as long as it doesn’t get any more embarrassing he may survive the ordeal. “Your turn, now.” 

 

He means for Gerome to tell him a secret. Instead Gerome leans closer and clumsily kisses Inigo. “Ah,” he gasps softly, and Gerome starts to pull away swiftly, but Inigo quickly reaches up and catches the back of his neck with the crook of his elbow to keep him close. “One more time for me, love.” 

 

The second time they kiss it’s more romantic. Like the stories in books. The second time they kiss their lips move together, Inigo’s eyes slide shut, and he accidentally drops the leather strap in his hand. He slides his other hand, now free, up to hold the side of Gerome’s face. Gerome keeps just one hand on Inigo, still firmly on his hip. The other must be holding his mask. 

 

Contently Inigo sighs through his nose, a gentle breath out while he’s kissed. This is what he wanted last night, what they were on the cusp of feeling under the fireworks. On the back of a dragon is an equally fantastic place for a first kiss too, he supposes. And what if it is the first of many?

 

Finally Gerome backs away. This time Inigo lets him, and he looks at him through his lashes almost nervously. “You… owe me a secret, Gerome.” His heart is beating so fast in his chest… it’s like a dream. He feels hazy again, but this time he can’t blame it on any wine. “Why do you hide your face?” 

 

“I’m hiding from my family,” He answers, hesitantly. “I don’t want to be recognized. That is why I hide. Is that enough of an answer?” 

 

Inigo is a little surprised. What is he hiding from? Is his family so horrible that he had to run away? Or perhaps he ran away, the same way Owain did, to find something better? To be a hero? “But....” He begins, frustrated. “But you’re delivering me back to mine? That’s not very fair. What if I’m a runaway too?” 

 

“But you’re not.” Gerome mutters. Inigo isn’t a runaway, that’s true. He’s just a boy on a silly errand for his father and scared of disappointing him. But… his time with Gerome the last few days has been different. Enough to make him think maybe Owain wasn’t as crazy as Inigo initially thought for running off. Maybe there is more to life than the walls of a castle and flirting with the help. 

 

He swallows but a knot is forming fast in his throat when he realizes he could just ask for what he wants. He could put it on the line. He slides his hands down between them, they settle mostly in his own lap, but in their current position it’s hard to draw the line between whose lap belongs to who. “But I could. If I go home then you’ll fly away and that will be the end of this, won’t it?” 

 

Inigo waits. He watches Gerome’s lips draw into a tighter frown. Inigo bites his own. “I won’t say my father is an expert on matters of love because he simply isn’t. But he is a firm believer in fated encounters, and I believe it was fate that I climbed that gods-awful tower to meet you. You’re not the damsel I expected but what if you’re something more?” 

 

Inigo knows it sounds silly. It’s like he’s telling a story. But this isn’t a story of a prince climbing a dragon guarded tower and rescuing a maiden. It’s a story that’s meant to end very soon, when they arrive back in Ylisstol today. 

 

“What exactly are you asking me?” Gerome prompts him just perfectly to explain himself, but Inigo barely knows the answer himself. 

 

“Take me with you,” Inigo answers. He almost scares himself with how crazy it sounds, but he means it. He brushes his fingers over the mask in Gerome’s hand and then he takes it into his own. Cautiously, he replaces it on his face after only a moment longer, and Gerome moves to tie it in place. It buys Inigo a few seconds to think up a reason for his request. “If it was fate that we met, and if these feelings I have for you mean something more than just a whim, then I want to join you. When I go home I’ll be told to prove my worth as a prince by going out and  _ doing _ something. If I stay with you I’m already doing it. I’ll see your world. I’ll earn my keep--I’ll dance for coins if need be. I’m talented, I swear it. And… I’ll prove my worth as a prince by protecting something.” 

 

“You mean me. I don’t need protection. I’m fine on my own.” Gerome looks much more serious with the mask on, but Inigo wonders if his eyes are looking at him fondly from behind it. He shakes his head no. 

 

“Whoever you’re hiding from. I’ll shelter you from them.” He doesn’t know who it is. His family? His homeland? A wicked stepmother? He doesn’t care. “Take me with you.” 

 

Gerome is silent too many seconds. Inigo’s chest twists up with nerves. He’s going to say no. He’s going to say no like he always does, and he’s going to deliver him to Ylisstol without another thought. But he doesn’t. 

 

He leans back in to Inigo’s lips and kisses the corner of his mouth. It’s slow and precise. He misses on purpose to give him a choice. Inigo makes the choice to turn his head and catch his lips in a real kiss. Another kiss that is like electricity quaking through his body from his lips to the tips of his toes and back. This can’t be the kiss of a passing fling. His hands raise up to catch Gerome’s cheeks, to keep him close. His thumb brushes against his jaw to guide it open, and the moment he feels him relax and loosen his jaw Inigo makes their kiss that much deeper by sweeping his tongue over his lips, into his mouth. 

 

Their teeth clack together once, Inigo has never kissed someone like this before and it’s a little sloppy. He’ll blame it on being on the back of a dragon later. He makes up for it by learning every inch of his mouth, by sucking gently on his tongue, on his lip, and by making a noise that might be a moan against his lips.

 

He’s breathless and almost heartbroken when Gerome pushes him back and forces their lips to part. Inigo reaches up with the back of his hand and wipes his mouth. Gerome holds his hand out like he wants something. “Give me the reins,” He says in a voice deep with what Inigo thinks might maybe be the first hints of arousal. He’s proud, and that pride surges through him, but…

 

Oh, the pride drains, along with the color, out of his face when he processes the request. “I dropped them.” He whispers.

 

“You… what?” Gerome groans and looks around Inigo, and sure enough the rains are billowing behind Minerva uselessly. “I asked you to hold on to them, was that difficult?”

 

“You kissed me!” 

 

“And so you forgot how to use your hands.” Gerome berates Inigo, but it doesn’t hurt his feelings. Not when he sees a soft smile on his lips. Pretty lips swollen with their last kiss. There’s a fondness in his voice now, one that Inigo didn’t recognize before… but maybe he doesn’t need to see what’s beneath Gerome’s mask to know how he really feels. Maybe it’s more obvious than he thought?

 

“The landing will be much rougher without the reins. They’re how I tell Minerva what I need her to do.” Gerome slides his hand from Inigo’s hip to settle in the small of his back. Inigo realizes now that he’s got his way. There’s no chance Gerome will take him home.

 

He drops his eye closed into a gentle wink. “I’ll have you to hold on to.” 

 

He’s not quite sure where they’ll go. Back to that tower? Across the continent having romantic adventures? It doesn’t matter. Inigo knows his heart better than anyone, and he knows he needs to stay with this man. His father would be proud of him for finding a task suited to a prince, and to a hero. The mystery of the masked man will be a mystery Inigo takes his sweet time solving, if only because he wants this moment, these kisses on the wings of a dragon, to last forever.


End file.
